Page 16 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
“Vibrator...Adam Pro...Most likely to...Orgasms...The one who got...”
My heart stops.I should probably check my pulse, but I’m too busy having an out-of-body experience as Adam shifts and I catch the flex of his muscular thigh.The way his gaze flicks down my body before settling back on my face.
“Adam Pro?”His fingers flex on the wheel.Once, twice.Then, slow as sin and all masculine, he rasps, “Interesting choice of name.”
Clinical note: Delete browser history.Find new best friend.Consider witness protection.
I clear my throat.“It’s a very good vibrator.”And I almost don’t sound like the squeaky chicken toy.“10 out of 10.Would recommend.”Because sometimes you need to take control of your own pleasure when life keeps trying to take control from you.
“When did you get it?”His voice drops to that dangerous register that used to make me squirm.
But that question is more efficient than a polar bear plunge.“Right after I found out my ex was cheating on me with one of my nurses.”And before he can hit me with an,“Oh, Eve”like my mom did when she found out, I continue, “I should have gotten it earlier...that man was a doctor and couldn’t tell when I was faking it.Which was a lot.Someone should revoke his observational skills certification.”
This time his half smile has an edge that makes my thighs clench.Like he’s imagining proving exactly how different he’d be.Like I’ve been dropped in my favorite romance novel.That’s why there’s an aching need in my chest that has me wanting to ask him if he could demonstrate that Chapter 12 from three lifetimes ago in person.The one he wanted to show me before.The one I was too scared to meet him for.
A flicker of movement pulls my attention to the road, and I blink.Hard.Because what rolls up isn’t a rescue truck or even some pickup.
It’s a carriage.A real, honest-to-Santa,decked-out-like-a-TikTok fever-dreamcarriage, with enough twinkle lights to signal passing planes, sled runners and a sound system blasting “All I Want for Christmas Is You” like it’s the grand finale of a Hallmark movie.The mules (or donkeys?) are wearing reindeer antlers, and even the reins are bedazzled.
Adam turns off the car that still sputters and slides back out with Dorothy back in his arms.I do the same, minus the dog because Blanche is staring at the carriage like it’s her own personal enemy.
“Is this… normal?”I whisper to Adam, who looks completely unfazed.
“This is Sally,” he says like it explains everything.“She rescues mules and those two love people and prancing around, so… there we are.Meet Naughty and Naughtier.”
Sally stops the carriage right near us.“I was finishing the Christmas stroll in the park,” she explains as she gives me a very obvious once-over.The music switches to “Last Christmas” and I swear the mules nod along.
Dorothy shifts, pressing her tiny traitorous body against his chest like she’s found her new home, and my stomach tightens, because wasn’t I supposed to be her home?
Adam’s arms instinctively curl around her, his thumb brushing absently over her side.Not like he’s thinking about it.Like it’s second nature.
As he gets closer to the carriage, Dorothy whines, reminding me that my usually fearless dachshund has been acting weird and won’t be climbing into that carriage.There are two mules after all.
“We could follow you by foot.”
Sally tilts her head.“The B&B is about a thirty-minute walk, and in this snow, you’ll freeze.”
Adam peeks his head back into the car, and I half expect Blanche to pee on him in protest.It’s her signature move with most men.But instead, she leans forward, sniffing him.And then?Her tail wags.At him.Like he’s not some guy invading her space, but someone she trusts.
The same dog who once growled at my ex for a solid week.
And this is too much.I need my suitcases before getting into that carriage.Or time.Or something.
“I’ll be right back.”
I sling my emergency tote over my shoulder—dogs' extra leashes, meds, charger, coping mechanisms shaped like holiday crochet and rechargeable silicone—and head for the trunk.
I get it open just as Sally’s voice goes breathy with delighted scandal:
“Is that… a…?”
I follow her gaze to the tote hanging from my arm, where my vibrator has slid halfway out of its velvet pouch, glowing with the confidence of a woman who has seen my search history.
My soul exits my body.“A vibrator,” I blurt.“Not a neck massager.A—”
Sally brightens.“Oh!The Pro3000.Solid motor.Bit loud when you get enthusiastic, but it'll take you where you need to go.”
Adam makes a strangled sound that could be a cough or the beginning of XXX
